Until the end of the line
by Ellstra
Summary: Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, together, for now and forever. Separate short stories about this lovely and oh so adorable couple.
1. Inserted

**_This story exists only thank to a great coincidence; since I saw the Winter soldier movie for the first time, I've been completely crazy about it and in this mood, I was searching for a book to borrow it to my friend when I accidently opened my copy of the Host book and I realised it has absolutely gorgeous names for chapters and voilá, the idea for this was born. _**

**_I'll try to write a short story for every name of the chapter even if it seems difficult._**

**_Please let me know what you think of this story, thanks :)_**

* * *

**_Inserted_**

Steve watches his best friend through a panel of glass and he notices he's clutching the hem of his T-shirt a bit too tightly as if his life depended on it. He releases his grip but he doesn't calm down either. He doesn't like what he sees.

"Hey," Natasha greets him and stands by his side. He nods shortly and his eyes don't leave the glass. "He'll be alright. It's not a dangerous operation."

"Well, it's harmless when you're not mentally broken. But who knows what they'd done to him? He doesn't remember either – he may react subconsciously and hurt someone. And what then – he'll kill again and they'll lose patience and murder him." Steve protests and glances at Natasha only to divert his sight again. "I'm sorry, Nat. I'm just so frightened I might lose him again."

"Yeah, I noticed," she smiles a little. She would never admit it, but she finds Steve's worry for his friend very sweet. In fact, she quite envies the Winter Soldier and she hates him for not knowing what he has. "You know, that's why they keep him under sedatives."

"For safety reasons," Steve mumbles in response, "his or theirs?"

"Both, I suppose," Natasha crosses her arms, "but I admit they might be thinking of themselves more than him."

"Whoever they protect, it's not good. Aren't we just the same as HYDRA if we do this to him? How am I supposed to look at myself now when I know there are people keeping my best friend under control and I don't do anything against it?"

"Hey, that's stupid," Natasha opposed even though she didn't think it was good. Steve wasn't listening to her at all.

"No, it's not." Steve snaps and turns to her, taking his eyes off the glass at last. "He's the most scarred person in this all. He should be treated like any other soldier who was hurt in the war. And what are we doing? Drug him and interject a tracking device into his body."

"I guess other victims of war haven't killed dozens of super-important historical personages," Natasha said it half as a joke, but she could tell from Steve's glare that it wasn't the smartest thing to say.

"Yeah normal people hurt in war are not used by a group of intruders for seventy years. Normal people are not robbed off their memories, over and over until they don't know their own name and they crave instructions and do whatever they're told to do because their own mind is so blank they don't dare to think of anything on their own. Normal people are pitied for being victims." Steve reasons and even though his voice remains steady and calm, his face is showing thousands of emotions. He stares at Natasha angrily and she just nods.

"That's how you see it. I'm not taking that from you so don't be mad at me. But just pretend – or at least try to pretend please – you're thinking about it the other way as well. Imagine your best friend is not this broken and shaken superman but one of his innocent dead targets. Would you pity the person who killed your best friend just because he wasn't himself?" She realises she's most probably too bold and she knows that if he wanted, he'd kill her before she'd have a chance to draw a knife from her boot. But she knows he needs to hear her words and nobody else would be mad enough to speak them. She sees he's aware of the truth in her words but keeps shoving it away.

"It wasn't his fault!" Steve hisses so spitefully she steps back subconsciously.

"I never said it was," she protests, "I only say that there are people who were very hurt by his actions. Not by him personally, but it's difficult for people to get over their grief if they don't have a cause of it, the culprit to turn their hatred towards. And you've got to admit he did fire the gun."

"Do you want to anger out for the injury because of which you can't wear bikini?" Steve asks coldly and his eyes find the spot on Natasha's abdomen where the wound she showed him so long ago is. In the easy times when the Winter Soldier was supposed to be eliminated no matter the cost.

"You're making idiot of yourself," Romanoff doesn't react to his spiteful remark, "look, I'm not against you. I've never known him as Bucky but I've seen the Winter Soldier who could be a hell of an enemy or a very useful ally. I hope he'll find his rational part soon if only for the reason he would be a great partner for Clint if we need a sniper."

She looked at him sympathetically before she spoke again, "But you should know he wasn't the only one hurt in this affair. And I'm not talking about myself now."

"Well, that would be the first," Steve chuckles before he can stop himself. Natasha gives him a 'you're so dead' glare, but she smiles a bit, in belief that he might have really understood. "I've never thought of him as of another Avenger just yet. I don't know if he'd like to be – you know – killing people and stuff."

"With the serum running through his veins? He won't be able to stay still for ten minutes, just like you. He'll love to do something." She dares to say.

"Suddenly you're his best friend or something?" Steve glares at her. Is it jealousy? She doesn't want to steal the man from him, she doesn't, why doesn't he understand?

"No. I just understand people and he still is a person, despite some other people saying he's a monster-"

"Now you admit it!" Steve interrupts her. She ignores him transparently.

"- or a martyr as you see him. He's a man with normal needs and desires but a twisted past. You've got to treat him like he's normal – not pity him."

"Ah. And acting as if he's normal means injecting him with a tracking device? I don't see the logic in that." He laughs bitterly; it looks so unnatural on his usually honest face she has to divert her sight. "'How's your tracker doing?' 'Fine, thanks, just got it replaced, thought the green one didn't suit me."

"Steve," she looks at him hard, as a mother would look at a disobedient child, "that's really ungrateful. He could be in prison – or dead when we're at it – if Fury didn't do a hell of work. And you know it. So just stop."

"You don't get it, Tasha," he bowed his head and turned around to face the glass wall again. "That's what HYDRA did; controlling him. I don't want to be like them, to remind him of what happened."

"I do get it. But he'll never heal if you don't let him deal with his past. He requires getting over it, not mute it within himself for the rest of his life. And they couldn't let him run around the world without any idea of his whereabouts. He's too dangerous for that."

"Oh. And why don't they put a tracking device into my body then? I'm just as dangerous." Steve argues.

"Maybe they did, what do you know," Natasha shrugs. They stand there in silence and watch as the doctors sew a cut on Bucky's flesh shoulder. Steve finds it quite ironic – both Bucky's arms were to be marked, as if they should show the blood on his hands. When the operation is over, Natasha wants to leave but Steve speaks up.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so worried. Maybe he won't remember and he'll stay broken and twisted and hollow. Maybe he's just the Winter Soldier and I am stupid for trying to see Bucky in him. But I've got to hope."

"I know you do, Rogers," she replies. He glances sideways at her and believes she's right. "And I don't think you'll ever cease trying to bring him back. So don't disappoint me."

"Disappoint you?" Steve asks in confusion.

"Yeah," Natasha admits, "have a bet with Stark about how much time it will take you to get together with this guy and I'm running out of time. And I can't lose, that would be the death of me."

"Wait, what? You bet with Stark about... me and Bucky getting into a relationship?" Steve inquires.

"Don't say you're surprised! It was just too thrilling to resist. You know, you chasing him all around the world, him breaking rules, orders and throwing everything he's known over his head to save you. It's kinda really romantic." She explains.

"We were not... lovers. And now we're not even friends." Steve says weakly and there's remorse in his voice.

"Yeah, but I'm betting on you. It's not illegal anymore," She smirks and turns around to leave as she saw the Winter Soldier regain consciousness.

"Natasha," he stops her before she can walk off, "I hope Stark's gonna do something really embarrassing if he loses."

"You can count on it." She smirks and walks away to give Steve some space to think it over.


	2. Remembered

_**Remembered**_

There wasn't a day in which Steve would not think of Bucky. He wasn't doing it on purpose, something just reminded him of his lost friend; a joke he knew Bucky would laugh at, his favourite meal and every time Steve was trying to draw.

He had lost his old drawings and sketches and he regretted it mostly because there were dozens of pictures of Bucky on them. He was visiting the Smithsonian to see Bucky's smile again, but it wasn't the same. Steve was still having some issues with modern technologies but he would have given up a lot to have a phone with camera back in the 40's so he would be able to capture Bucky's face in their little private moments; all the bits of happiness Steve had to take long minutes to put on the paper would be preserved if he stored them somewhere.

Certainly, the drawings had their charm but what was it good for now when he couldn't see them even though he needed them the most? What were the long hours good for when he couldn't look at his friend's loved face – even if only on a piece of paper? The thing that was driving him mad the most on the photos in Smithsonian was that they were official; everybody could look at them, everybody could see Bucky like this and suddenly Steve felt like he wasn't special to Bucky at all – now he was just one of many of the people visiting the exhibition. Sure, people came mostly because of him, but they adored Bucky anyway. Nevertheless, all the photos there were official and he could download them from the internet if he wanted – which made him feel terrible and he couldn't bring himself to do it, as if Bucky was toy you could buy on Amazon.

He needed to see Bucky how he alone could see him; in the morning after they made love for the first time and he couldn't sleep because he was worried somebody might catch them so he just watched Bucky's content smile. Or when Steve got beaten into a pulp once again, Bucky took care of him and then fell asleep and Steve drew his peaceful smile before going to sleep himself. Or when they returned from a mission when Steve almost got killed and Bucky was mad at himself because he thought it was his fault and he didn't speak to Steve for good thirty minutes. Or when Bucky almost got killed in return and Steve made a moving speech about how much he would miss him and Barnes just smiled and shed tears of happiness. There were thousands of fragments of memories on those papers – full of friendship and love – but Steve didn't see them since the war.

He dropped by at the museum every time he felt lonely, out of time, useless or desperate, which was basically all the time and he stood in front of the panel dedicated to Bucky for long minutes, just standing there and trying to feel connection between himself and Bucky. He realised that if the Smithsonian had some kind of a reward card like it was in shops, he'd already be paid for going to see the exhibition. He knew the words below Bucky's photo by heart and yet he read it every time with tiny, desperate hope that maybe he'll find something in it that would tell him Bucky hadn't died back on the train. He was becoming obsessed with the idea; he was cherishing it within his heart and he kept convincing himself that if Bucky was dead, he'd have to know it.

He wasn't consciously aware that he was doing it, but he was visiting the exhibition like other people went to cemeteries to visit graves of their loved ones. Bucky had a resting-place, there was a tombstone wearing the words James Barnes but Steve knew Bucky's body was never found and thought the grave was empty, fake, insincere. He came to the exhibition to talk to Bucky as he had when they'd been kids, to beg for forgiveness he assumed Bucky wanted, for advice or simply to complain about wiles of modern age such as toilets that splashed automatically.

He was waiting there for long minutes in hope he might hear Bucky's voice again. The thing that frightened him the most was that he almost couldn't recall it. He knew what Bucky looked like because he had the photos to remind him, but there was no record of his voice; the way he'd pronounced Steve's name, the way he'd said 'I love you', the trembling in his voice when he'd tried not to cry. All of it was stored only in Steve's mind and even there it kept diminishing. Steve didn't want to let it go, he remembered he'd thought Bucky's voice was the most soothing thing in the whole world, but he didn't remember it clearly anymore.

Every time he received no answer he became more depressed, sad and lonely because how was he ever going to function again if he didn't have Bucky to help him?

He didn't say a word about it to anybody. They knew he missed his friend but they could never understand how much Bucky meant to Steve, how deep their relationship had gone and that if Bucky died under that train, a part of Steve died there as well. They assumed he had PTSD from the war and spending more than half a century frozen in time and that he was lost in the new times. Both these things were true but they weren't the full reason for Steve's mood. It wasn't like he didn't wish to talk about it; he thought he may even feel better if he did confide in somebody but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt like they'd force him to see a psychologist and to talk a professional about the loss of a lover and he wasn't prepared to do that. He did realise they couldn't put him into prison for loving a man anymore, but he had lived in a homophobic atmosphere for too long to get rid of these suspicions.

He also supposed that people would call him crazy if he told them he was visiting an exhibition about his friend almost every day. They would try to help him, they would be supportive but most of all they would pity him and that was the thing he wanted the least. They would never understand that he wasn't trying to bring Bucky back by staring at him, that he wasn't in denial and that he did it all only to remember his best friend and occasional lover because now with his drawings lost there was no other way to keep the memory in his mind and he wanted to remember.

Bucky was the only person who cared about him before he became a soldier if he didn't count his parents, a together with Peggy he remained one of two people who didn't think Steve was completely useless before he became Captain America. He had to remember Bucky because he was the most important person in his life; he wanted to be able to recall their mutual experiences – their clumsy first kiss, Steve's pneumonia, or all of their love confessions.

It was impossible for Steve to fully believe Bucky was dead. Yes, he had seen him fall off the train, but they never found a body, right? If Bucky had survived the fall, he would have told somebody, sure, but maybe he couldn't. If he had survived the fall, he would have been very old if still alive, sure, but Steve was young and if he was, Bucky could be as well. Steve's brain was kind enough to his heart to provide him with an answer for every single reasonable question.

In Steve's opinion, a person was really dead after there was nobody to remember them. Since Steve was thinking of Bucky a lot, Barnes couldn't be dead. And as long as they were commemorated in museums, comics and other media, they would never die. It was a poor excuse but also the only comfort he could get not to go mad in this new, strange world.

If only Bucky spoke back sometimes.


	3. Overheard

_**Overheard**_

Winter Soldier kept moving. He was fully aware of Captain America following him – it was so obvious he didn't have to be a former agent of HYDRA to see it. He didn't try to escape though; he was doing predictable moves he would never even think of if he really wanted to flee. He thought he was being smart but the truth was that Captain America was giving him some time. It was not difficult to understand that a man of the Soldier's qualities wouldn't act so recklessly if he didn't wish to be pursued.

Steve didn't know if the object of his interest did it on purpose or sub-consciously but he didn't really care and he didn't try to hide. They were both trying to outsmart each other and neither succeeded.

What Steve didn't know about were Winter Soldier's visits to his sleeping places. The former assassin could not understand how a man who's gone through was could sleep so tight. He wasn't complaining as soon as he understood that no matter how hard he'd try, he'd never fool his body when it came to its need for sleep. He hated sleeping because it always left him more exhausted than before. When he wasn't alone in his sleep, it got better from time to time. Even though he was glad for every memory he gained, he didn't want to pay such a high price for them.

And nightmares were a very high price. Flashbacks from the war, from the fall, from the time when he was lying in the freezing snow with unresponsive left arm shattered into a mess of blood, muscle and shards of bones. Flashbacks from the time when HYDRA was mending his body, from the long hours of torture, hunger, pain, brainwashing and other dreadful things. Flashbacks from attacks of sexual nature that were by far the worst.

He never dreamt of anything nice or pleasant and that made him feel sad and angry. He had knowledge of almost every bad thing that happened to him but absolutely nothing worth remembering. Memories of the time before the war came scarcely if they even came and he had just as little information about the times of war when he wasn't under attack, frightened or wounded. He knew there must have been better times in his life. If he kept surviving, day after day, there must have been something worth living for. He had a distant feeling that it had something to do with Captain America. He didn't know why, but it seemed the good things kept avoiding him. He didn't know what he had done to deserve that – or maybe he did but still, he must have done some good as well.

When he found out that the person whose presence he felt from time to time, whose eyes were on him, was nobody but Captain America, he couldn't stop himself from seeking the man out. He was drawn to the man by some unknown, greater force and he was doing a poor job resisting it.

Sneaking into Captain America's hotel rooms was so easy the Soldier almost suspected something was wrong. But once he was inside he didn't give it a single thought because he felt safe. He watched the sleeping man for some time before he lay down on the floor beside the bed and soon he was too tired to stay awake. Nevertheless he'd always wake up sooner than Captain America and disappear before he could be spotted. Since that moment he was having nice dreams as well. Not every night and the bad ones still came more often but he could finally understand what it was like to sleep peacefully.

When he was on his own, hiding in big cities or wilderness, he felt lonely and the part of his brain that was James Buchanan Barnes screamed in frustration when the side of his being that was still dominant – the Winter Soldier – rejected to give in to what they both – body and soul – needed. But when he was tired, all courage and conviction had to go away because he knew that only if he was in the same room as Captain America he could hope for a sound sleep.

That one particular evening was just like the others. He tracked down the hotel the Captain stayed in, hid inside to see which room and then he fled and watched the windows to see when the lights were turned off. In the night he climbed the wall up – he noticed that Captain America always slept in lower parts of the houses he chose to spend nights in. Was he trying to make it easier for his pursuer to track him down?

As true self-confident men, they were both convinced the other didn't see their strategy.

Winter Soldier opened the window easily – Captain America always left it unlocked – and hopped inside silently. He walked towards the sleeping man in the bed, he made sure the Captain was not awake and he wandered into the bathroom because he felt thirsty. He looked at himself in the mirror and compared what he saw with the picture of James Buchanan Barnes he had observed in the Smithsonian.

He was thinner – it was visible in his hollow cheeks as well as on other parts of his body if he bothered himself with inspecting it. He had known he had longer hair but he could not decide if he liked it that way or not. And there was beard on his cheeks, chin and the sides of his face. When he considered it, he thought James Buchanan Barnes would not like it and the part of his mind responding to that name nodded in agreement.

He hoped that getting rid of it might make him feel more like James Buchanan Barnes – and he wanted to feel like that – but he didn't know how to do it. So he looked at himself, washed his hands and face, ran his fingers through his hair and turned around to go into the bigger room where the Captain slept. Despite the cold water that still sparkled on his face, he felt exhausted and his eyes kept closing independently on his will. He turned the lights off and stumbled into the room – hoping it shouldn't be one of those that had basically no space on the floor and he had to sleep half under the bed.

It was not and he walked almost to the window so he would be close to his way of escape. He was almost there, when his knee hit some stool. He yelped in pain as he lost balance and fell to the ground. His metal arm made so much noise he knew would wake absolutely anybody and yet it seemed the Captain was not awake. Winter Soldier stayed on the ground because he assumed that in the improbable case the man hadn't waken up, he was still sleeping less deep and may be awaken by the Soldier's additional movements.

As he watched the presumably sleeping man, he however realised the Captain's breathing pattern had changed. The Soldier understood it just a second later – Captain America pretended he was asleep for some reason. He couldn't decide what to do – should he leave the room? Or lie down as he intended to? Tell the other man he knew he wasn't sleeping?

Steve opened his eyes quickly as he heard the noise but seeing Bucky's figure he shut them again. He was dying to speak to his friend but he was giving him some time to calm down and stop being as alert as he certainly was. He wanted to avoid being attacked by his friend and having to fight him. It seemed to him it was enough time for Bucky to flee if he'd want to so he moved slowly and carefully.

Winter Soldier stared in fear as Captain America pulled himself up on his elbows. Out of habit, the Soldier began calculating his options should the other man strike first. He changed his position into a more favourable one and peered into the dark to see the Captain's eyes and guess what his intentions were. He hoped he'd be able to convince the latter this was the first time he was in the same room because as he thought about it, it seemed to him very queer and creepy to stalk somebody like that even if this somebody was following you on run and used to be your best friend.

Steve was happy Bucky didn't attempt to kill him when he started moving – he thought it was a good sign. As he leant on his elbow, he realised he had no idea what to do next. So he did the first thing that came to his mind.

"Hey, Buck," he greeted the former assassin sheepishly. The Soldier knew he was addressed; the fragment of him that was James Buchanan Barnes wanted to respond but the Winter Soldier was too perplexed to do anything. He kept staring and gaping as he attempted to guess what was on the Captain's mind.

"Do you need something?" Steve asked. He didn't want to move in fear he might startle Bucky.

"I-" _Yes! _The Soldier swallowed hard. _You!_

"It's alright, just tell me." Steve encouraged him and dared to sit up. Then he realised it might have looked like he was trying to gain advantage by sitting higher and he left the bed, kneeling down beside Bucky.

"Are you mad at me?" The Soldier asked with worry in his eyes. He remembered what it was like to make somebody mad at him and be punished for that. He hoped the Captain was not mad at him too much because he didn't want to be punished.

"Of course not, Bucky," Steve assured his friend. He extended his hand towards the latter but he withdrew it again, because he didn't know if Bucky would like to be touched.

The Soldier noticed the gesture and he was hurt by it. It must have appeared in his expression as he saw the Captain's hand reaching towards him again.

"Are you okay with me touching you?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded, yearning for the touch more than he thought was possible. He was frightened of physical contact for so long because it always meant pain or humiliation that he forgot what it was like to want to be touched.

Steve bridged the distance between them, took Bucky's hand into his and squeezed it slightly. They stared at each other before many things happened at once.

Winter Soldier's brain must have been malfunctioning because he did something completely mad. He let go of Captain America's hand and in a swift movement pulled the other man into a tight embrace as if his whole life depended on it.

Steve was completely awestruck by Bucky's movements and he thought he might have made the greatest mistake of his life when he exposed himself so much to a former assassin who had been told to kill him. What if he really wasn't Bucky and came to murder him? But Bucky was squishing him in a bone-breaking hug and clung to him as if letting go meant doom. Steve wrapped his arms around his friend firmly and smiled slightly.

They sat like that in silence for a long time before the Soldier finally pulled away. He looked into Captain America's eyes deeply before asking: "May I sleep here?"

Steve smiled even wider as he realised it was not just a dream when he thought Bucky had been sleeping in his room. He thought he just wanted it so much he convinced himself it was true, but Bucky's expression told him the Soldier knew what he was asking.

"Of course. But under two conditions," he replied and laughed as he saw a grumpy expression on his friend's face. "First , you'll take a shower and change into clean clothes."

The Soldier thought it over and he realised he didn't know what doing either meant.

"And second – you're not allowed to sleep on the floor. You'll sleep in the bed with me; it's too big for one person anyway."Steve added, "Agreed?"

On the other hand the Soldier understood this requirement perfectly. There was a thrilling sensation in his body when he thought about sharing the bed with Captain America and James Buchanan Barnes within him was over the moon.

"Agreed," he mimicked the expression on the other man's face and he noticed how the Captain – Steve – lit up as he saw it.


	4. Resisted

_**Resisted**_

Darkness crept into Bucky's mind, clouded it and put shadows inside. He kept mumbling the words he didn't understand anymore. _James Barnes, Sergeant, 325572_. It was one of the few things he could still remember and the only one he didn't think he needed to hide. He didn't care about his life – not anymore, they took that away from him. All his sense of self-preservation was gone and the only thing he considered important were his memories.

When he was captured, he was so weak he was glad when he managed to stay awake for a whole hour. At first, they took care of him, replaced his arm, tended to the countless other injuries he had, fed him, let him sleep. He didn't understand he was taken prisoner for a long time. In his feverish delirium, he misplaced his surroundings; he thought he was in care of American doctors; that everything was going to be alright. There was only one thing missing, one person he'd expected to come and have a look at him, even if just a short one. Had it not been for this, he would not suspect something was wrong.

Then his body healed and they started turning him into the weapon they wanted him to be. At first it was easy but they stopped being nice very soon. When he was beaten into a pulp for the first time, he thought no longer he was among friends. Familiar blue eyes kept watching him in dreams, but they never came when he wanted to see them. The first time he ended strapped to a bed with bleeding injuries, bruising eyes and pain in his chest, murmuring his name, rank and serial number in a teary, shaking voice he understood that those eyes won't come. For some reason, they abandoned him, left him in the hands of cruel people who wanted something he couldn't point his finger on. They deserted him, why?

His captors gave him two days in which they cured as many of his injuries as was possible, and began the beating again. They didn't want information which confused him; he thought that if he was taken prisoner in war, he would be beaten to give information. But they never asked anything, nothing important. They were transforming him into a beast, killing the old Bucky within him and they were waking fury, anger and hatred in him. They kept saying terrible things about the country he came from, the people he trusted and replaced them with false information, delusions and stories he didn't believe. And then they beat him over and over and spoke about all the things, pushed those lies into his mind until he could no longer tell the difference.

Bucky realised that some of the facts were false but he couldn't distinguish them anymore. When he was awake, they were telling him the lies and injured him. When he slept, the stories kept haunting him, he saw faces melting into other ones, he saw caresses being turned into acts of violence or peace shattering into chaos, pain and suffering.

He would give them almost everything, all the bits of information that had no personal value to him – positions of their bases, ammunition the American army used, secrets about commanders. But they wanted nothing more than to teach him and nothing less than to change him completely and destroy everything human within his soul.

One by one, facts kept slipping through his fingers. He paid little attention to it at first; compared to the physical torment it was difficult to care about the names of his primary school classmates. But then the information they tried to steal or change was more important and he began to struggle. But he was weak; they strapped him down, tied him with ropes, flogged him, punched him or let him drown for some time. They tortured him to the breaking point and sometimes even a bit beyond it and he was losing himself. He lost all knowledge he had apart from memories of one person.

Repeating his name, rank and serial number helped him concentrate on one thing so he wasn't thinking about anything else; he kept his mind off the person who mattered the most, off those shining blue eyes or round, pink lips. It was hard for him to not think of him, the man whose name disappeared from the shallow surface of his memory, when the soft smile of the man gave him the only comfort he could hope to get. He didn't wish to let go of him, he wasn't prepared and he knew that if he did release the memory, there would be absolutely nothing left of him. Nothing worth fighting for, nothing good, sacred, solemn but only an empty shell full of confusion, pain and hatred.

He realised that if they took this man from him he would soon lose his own name as well. And that was exactly what they aimed to get; they knew he was almost broken and only few threads connected him with reality and his humanity. This far he could resist when they ordered him to do something he'd not want to do and it wouldn't be safe to send him into action if they couldn't be sure he'd not betray.

The only problem was that they didn't know what he was hiding in his heart, what was so precious to him he took a beating almost every day because of it. They watched him 24/7, they tortured him and they were nice to him, all of it without any effect or outcome. He was silent and if he did speak, he muttered the all too familiar set of _James Barnes, Sergeant, 325572_. It drove everybody insane; after so much time and money spent on creating the weapon, they wanted some outcome; they wanted to fire the gun or throw the knife.

It seemed hopeless. He would not give up the memory and they couldn't dive deep enough into his mind to snatch the obstacle from him and finally make him submit. They even thought that he buried it so deep he could no longer retrieve it himself and therefore he was lost. That appeared improbable though because if it was out of his reach, it wouldn't have such influence on him.

And then he broke down. His body gave in and he screamed from sleep. He screamed a name and in that moment he was lost. They required little effort to ruin this last remnant of his revolt and as soon as they wiped the man he loved, he was blank, empty and unresponsive. Submissive.

...

Darkness takes over his mind but he doesn't fight it; he welcomes it because it means he'll be free. They promised that once he fulfils his mission he can sleep and he was so tired. Being awake was wearing him out because it kept nagging at him that this was not everything. He doesn't know what is missing, but he is searching for something and it makes him unhappy. He falls asleep and the last thing he sees is a familiar pair of lips whispering words he doesn't understand: "I'll save you."


	5. Dreamed

_**Dreamed**_

Sunrays creep into a room through three big windows and illuminate small particles of dust that flows lazily through the air. It is warm and it promises a lovely day and yet Steve and Bucky wallow in their big bed in the Avengers' tower and don't plan to change anything about it. Steve leans against the headboard with a sketchbook on his thighs and a pencil in hand. Bucky lies spread on the other side with mischievous grin upon his face. Steve ignores all the seductive moves Bucky makes and rather takes his time to draw them. When he first wanted to draw his lover naked, he was very shy to ask but once he did, Bucky agreed maybe a bit too enthusiastically. He obviously enjoyed the feeling of Steve's eyes all over his body; it felt almost as good as when they were touching. Steve concentrates on small details of Bucky's face and the latter doesn't dare to change his expression, afraid that if he did, Steve would be mad at him.

They worked hard for the last few months and almost wore themselves out. Neither spoke of it, but they thought that the sooner they get rid of what is to be found remaining of HYDRA, the better and that they won't have peace before they know Bucky's free. The other Avengers only saw them on a few occasions when the pair dropped by if it was convenient. At first neither dared to bring the subject up but when Steve fell asleep in the middle of a conversation, Natasha threatened she'll lock them in a room for three days separately and without food if they didn't take a break. At first they tried to object but their resistance only lasted a few minutes before they took a shower, fell into a bed and slept for almost a whole day. As if following Natasha's words, they almost didn't leave their room if not for food or to go into a bathroom.

What they were doing apart from the much too obvious actions everybody who was as close as a floor up or down from their room could hear too clearly – nobody understood how they could both be so _loud_ when normally they were quite noiseless – nobody knew. From time to time Natasha, who was maybe a bit too thrilled about their relationship and did something that could only be described as stalking, could hear laughter and she supposed they were talking about the times before the war.

They truly were; Bucky once asked Steve if they could play a 'Real or not real' game he read about in the Hunger Games book (nobody ever asked why he chose to read that book in particular). Steve agreed, even though he thought Bucky had a different problem – his mind was blank while the original boy had his memories twisted and changed. Steve never said it aloud but he was grateful for that, because he thought he could give Bucky his memories back – or to simply wake them up – and didn't have to worry about what Bucky thinks of him.

As soon as they started this game though, Steve realised HYDRA has altered Bucky's recollections; not much, but they were different in details – America seemed a much filthier place than it was, the war seemed to have been provoked by everybody else but HYDRA and other small things that changed Bucky's view of the war. Fortunately for Steve, nobody considered Bucky's memory of his childhood best friend dangerous so they just took it away. That was proved wrong in the end as Steve was what brought James Buchanan Barnes to the surface from beneath the thick layers of the Winter Soldier, but it made Steve shiver anyway.

They agreed not to talk about it with anybody else; Bucky agreed because he didn't see how it was a deal at all now when he was free, but Steve seemed to find it important so he kept his promise. The truth was that Steve just realised how dangerous Bucky could have been back then when he was only getting his memories back and how reckless he was himself when he trusted the shadow of his best friend.

"And...finished. Do you like it, mademoiselle?" Steve turned the drawing towards Bucky who threw himself forward and stretched his stiff neck in the process. He lay down beside Steve and took the paper into his hands. He watched it for some time, pretending to be deep in thoughts before he handed it back and grinned.

"That was the most erotic moment in my life," he declared and they both laughed.

Natasha forced them to watch Titanic with her a few days ago and the pair has been making fun of it since then. Bucky thought he would never get tired of saying: "Draw me like one of your French girls!" even though he thought it was extremely cheesy and stupid.

"Yeah, I know," Steve grinned and threw the sketchbook onto the ground before lying on top of Bucky and kissing his neck. Bucky laughed and rolled them over.

"Not now. We're having a_ romantic_ moment." He breathed out, his hands pinning the other man down in a possessive manner anyway.

"Yeah, looks like that, _Sergeant_," Steve snarls back and smirks. The expression would surprise people if they saw it on Captain America's face. But it could not surprise Bucky who has long ago learnt that just because Steve is all smiles and kindness he doesn't necessarily have to be submissive.

"I think I'm gonna be disobedient today," Bucky bites Steve's lip as he says so and they kiss roughly for some time. Eventually, Bucky gives in and Steve pushes him on his back again.

"The more punishment for you," Rogers utters.

...

Later on, Steve lies with his head on Bucky's chest and draws small circles around Bucky's belly-button. It tickles a bit especially with the sweat still covering their skin but Bucky holds, deep in thoughts. Steve looks up at him because he thinks another question will come; that maybe Bucky recovered some memory and now he is going to ask Steve to verify it. When he looks into his lover's eyes though, he sees they're not confused and slowly a small smile creeps onto Bucky's lips.

"Enjoying yourself?" Steve asks without irony – or maybe just a little bit of it.

"You know, this is what I've dreamt about since I was like... fourteen." Bucky frowns a little at the time expression. "You and me naked in a bed, making out when we want, getting so much food we wouldn't be able to eat it, you drawing pictures of me, you being healthy so I wouldn't have to worry you'd collapse in my arms. This is a dream coming true."

"You're such a hopeless romantic, Bucky, you should write poems." Steve sits up with a mischievous light in his eyes. "Thy eyes are like diamonds that illuminate the path which I must take, thy tears are endless rivers I want to end, and thy lips are the sweetest fruit because they're forbidden, at the sight of thee my eyes widen."

"You sure it's not you who should write the poems?" Bucky grins.

"You're a jerk,"

"I love you, too,"


	6. Uncomforted

_**Hey, I'm sorry this one took me this long, but I didn't know how to grasp it. I had half of the story already written out, but it didn't work. Then some thunderstorms came and seeing my sister who's afraid of thunderstorms and gets very nervous when she hears a thunder, this idea came. The thoughts Bucky's having do not really vary from my own fears.**_

* * *

_**Uncomforted**_

Steve poured some milk into a cup and took it to Bucky who was sitting on Steve's dingy bed with his back against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest and eyes shut firmly. Steve joined him on the cot, held the cup with one hand and caressed Bucky's forearm gently. The latter didn't appear to notice Steve's gesture, but it was fine, Bucky could rarely react when he was paralysed by fear.

"Hey, it's fine, okay?" Steve murmured in a reassuring voice. "I'm here with you."

Bucky made no move or sound and Steve kept waiting patiently because he thought this was the least he could do for Bucky in exchange for the care with which Bucky treated his injuries every time Steve got into a fight. There weren't many occasions on which Bucky needed Steve; he kept saying otherwise but they both knew it wasn't true. When Steve could actually be helpful, it filled him with joy and satisfaction and he was really thrilled about it.

"I've got milk for you, or I could bring you anything, just tell me, okay?" Steve spoke again and smiled slightly as he looked at his best friend who was curled into a ball beside him.

In a distance, quite far away there was a bright lightning but it wasn't followed by thunder what was good, at least in Steve's opinion. Bucky hid his eyes behind his forearms to shield them from seeing any hint of the light. Steve placed the cup of milk on a table, climbed up onto the bed and wrapped his thin, short arms around his beloved as firmly and reassuringly as he could.

"It's far away, Bucky, nothing will get to you, I won't let it," Steve offered and leant his head on Bucky's shoulder. "I'll protect you, like every time."

It seemed ridiculous to Steve; he would never be able to protect Bucky because he was so helplessly useless compared to Bucky. But still he could protect his friend that time, because the only thing endangering Bucky was his own fear and Steve could try to help him fight it.

"I know," Bucky mumbled but he kept shaking.

Steve didn't remember the beginning of Bucky's fear of thunderstorms or the cause of it; it appeared to be given to him since he was born like his charms or talent for singing. He didn't know what to do; children usually fight their fears and even if they can't control them completely, they're able to live with them. But Bucky's terror was still the same if not worse; every time it was hot in the summer Bucky was nervous, because he knew the thunderstorm would come, sooner or later. Then when it started raining, the lightning flashed, thunder roared and he would curl into a ball and not talk for hours. Steve realised he was a burden all the time so he tried to be by his friend's side to let him know he's not ungrateful. He doubted Bucky would notice if he left though, he seemed to fall into shock once the storm started and he didn't calm down until at least hour after its end.

"Do you want me here?" Steve asked in case Bucky wanted to be alone. That was highly improbable, Bucky never showed any preferences. This time though, he nodded; it was barely perceptible and somebody else might even overlook it but to Steve it was almost a miracle. He pressed his body even closer to Bucky and he tried to hold him firmly enough to stop his friend from shaking. He kept whispering words of comfort to his friend's ear and he thought it might be alright when suddenly the storm got closer and they could hear thunders in distance. It was all very quiet and when Steve counted the time between lightning and thunder, it was many kilometres away.

"Shh, it's far. It won't come anywhere close to us, I promise, Bucky. Nothing will happen to us." Steve kept saying so many times, over and over and he no longer understood the meaning his words carried but he knew he couldn't stop saying them because they were important.

They sat there, cuddled one against another and they both prayed for the storm to end soon; Bucky because it frightened him and Steve because no matter how amazing it felt to be useful, he couldn't watch his friend seized by such turmoil. Bucky shuddered every time he heard a thunder and Steve grit his teeth when he saw each lightning, anticipating its inseparable companion to follow it.

"Steve?" Bucky murmured and raised his head, looking away from the window carefully in the process. His eyes were alert and kept running away from Steve's sight and back to him again.

"Yeah, I'm here," Steve responded as if Bucky could not notice him when their limbs were tangled and their heartbeats synced long ago.

"Can I... sleep here tonight?" the scared man asked sheepishly as if he was unsure if Steve would let him.

"Of course you can. You can stay here whenever you wish," the thinner youngster offered, his enthusiasm maybe a bit too obvious in his voice.

"Thank you," Bucky said in a shaky voice and buried his face on his forearms again. Steve held him and eventually he started drawing reassuring circles on Bucky's side, caressing every single line and curve of Bucky's body and humming some unintelligible tune. He recalled Bucky singing lullabies to him when he was ill or in pain and couldn't sleep and it made him smile. Bucky was his guardian angel and now he had a chance to be a one as well.

The flashes of light pierced the sky less and less frequently; thunders appeared scarcely until finally they ceased bellowing completely. Steve expected Bucky to let go of him, but Barnes clung to his body with fierce determination. Steve wasn't going to break the contact even though he felt very tired and sleepy. He thought it would be ungrateful to pull away now when Bucky needed him; he was sure Bucky had wanted to turn around and run away from him many times before and since he hadn't done it, Steve felt obliged to stay as well.

His eyelids felt heavy and he found himself losing concentration from time to time. Every time he woke up either with his head thrown back or leant against Bucky's shoulder. His friend didn't appear to notice it or let alone care about it. Steve knew he wouldn't stay awake much longer and it made him feel terrible; one time he could be there for Bucky but his body had to betray him just as it always did.

"Bucky, I... huh, I mean, are you alright? I'm really exhausted and..." he dared to say. Maybe Bucky was just in thoughts and didn't realise Steve was holding him.

Bucky only nodded and raised his head. He didn't look at Steve, but the smaller man had released his grip already and sat at Bucky's side. He resisted urge to stretch his body, he didn't want to make Bucky feel guilty but he was really sore.

"If you want something, just tell me, alright? I might fall asleep in the next moment so be quick," Steve told his friend and he put a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder. When he didn't receive a response for almost a minute, it worried him but he was too worn out to consider it more and since he intended to let Bucky sleep in the bed and he had to fetch some blankets to sleep on before he fell asleep.

When he did, he placed them on the ground close to the bed and he took off his shirt and trousers and put on a thick jumper instead. He came to Bucky for the last time and looked into his eyes.

"If anything happened, another storm came, you felt lonely, seriously anything, wake me up, okay?" Steve said softly.

"Okay," Bucky nodded and managed to smile a little.

"You're taking the bed," Steve pointed out the obvious. He anticipated fight, but no struggle came from Bucky's side.

"Okay," he just mumbled again.

"Buck, seriously, what is it?" Steve knelt down and took Bucky's hands into his. They felt cold and Steve had to put a lot of effort into ignoring it.

"I'm alright, go to sleep. I swear I'm fine," Bucky said and he ruffled Steve's hair to prove his words. Steve watched him with suspicions for some time before he gave up, lay down on his pile of blankets and soon enough he dozed off.

Bucky buried himself under a thin shaggy duvet, curled into a ball, lying on his left side and stared in front of himself. The darkness surrounding him was calming a soothing but he didn't trust it. He still saw sharp flashes in front of his eyes, burnt houses, damage and disasters. Among it all, there always was Steve's burnt body, one time blackened to ashes, the other only badly hurt, sometimes looking almost untouched but lifeless anyway. And a single thought on Bucky's mind. _I haven't told him. _

He had always been frightened of thunderstorms, he hated being powerless and there was literally nothing he could do to protect himself or others from such strong natural force. Being used to be Steve's guardian, he needed to feel like he was always in charge of things and nature simply was not an equal to him. It was Bucky's secret and he never told Steve about it because he was ashamed of it. He was sure Steve would understand he wasn't just being egoistic and cocky but really felt frightened of being unable to control his own life and the safety of his beloved, but he was judging himself too much for it to be a safe conversation topic. The worst fear the thunderstorm revived was not that he might die – not even that Steve might die because he worried about that almost every day – it was the fear of being helpless, trapped, tied up, unable to do anything but watch. He wasn't afraid of thunderstorms themselves, but they were a very intense demonstration of forces that were greater than Bucky's.

He stared into the room he knew so well, with the frail frame of Steve wrapped in many blankets in the middle of his field of vision. Bucky stared at the small man who believed he could help him in his fear. How childish and naïve that assumption was! Steve could do even less than Bucky himself and even though it sounded a bit harsh, it was the truth. Bucky knew that if the storm really came, neither of them would be able to do anything to divert it, stop it from killing either of them or lessen the impact of it. They would be just as vulnerable as toddlers.

Realisations of this usually made Bucky angry and hopeless but not that day; he was just frightened. The storm could have come any moment, break the house they stayed in, burn them, stop their hearts – especially Steve's not really efficient one – and he would die without telling Steve that he wasn't really afraid of thunderstorms and that he loved him.

There were some tiny things Bucky didn't tell Steve either not to hurt him, because they were unimportant or because they would trigger more questions, but that was okay because neither of them had any significance and even the best of friends were allowed to have little harmless secrets. But Bucky also hid important facts from Steve – he was worried that if he told him that he wasn't really afraid of the actual thunderstorms and that he was scared all the time that something he couldn't influence might happen, Steve would think he was paranoid. And maybe he was.¨

He didn't really consider telling Steve the truth about his feelings. It has been shaping in his mind for some time already but he was sure it was true now. He didn't only want long discussions or shared memories, hushed promises and happy laughter; he wanted that all but he wanted more and that frightened him. It was only another thing he couldn't influence and yet it happened – another proof that his fear was not unsound. He never wanted to fall in love with his best friend; there were so many people he could love and yet it had to be Steve whom he simply couldn't have. If it was only about him, he'd risk it. He'd give up everything for a kiss, a whispered love confession but he never could drag Steve into this because Steve would be unhappy.

The problem was that even if Steve loved him back as much as Bucky loved him, it would make him conflicted. He might say something else, but Bucky knew that Steve would be unable to be completely happy in secret. While Bucky would do anything for love, he knew Steve was less of a romantic – despite what they appeared to be, Steve was the reasonable one. It would trouble him and he would end up hating Bucky, slowly at first but passionately in the end for dragging him into something he didn't want.

Bucky realised that whatever the options were, he could not really think about them because of one detail – Steve was too innocent and pure for that. It would disappoint him, hurt him, break him even and Bucky could not let that happen.

He rolled on his other side and stared at the wall, trying to forget how pleasant it was to feel Steve's body wrapped around his own.


End file.
